What did you do during the war, daddy?

We’ve only got a few months left in 2016. I was about to say that I can’t wait for this year to be over, but 2017 isn’t any more promising. Tragic events, paranoia and hysteria aren’t confined by the calendar. We create those things by the things we think and say and do. Still, 2016 feels like a pivotal year. When we look back, we’re going to say, this was one year that sucked hard. Our kids will ask, what did you do? How did you vote? This is our collective, “What did you do during the war, daddy?” moment.

A bunch of people in the States decided that going to a public bathroom was suddenly a huge risk. The hysteria around who got to go to which bathroom was a bridge too far for me. The fact that slimy Ted Cruz was the closest alternative to Trump was a disgrace. Fear, it seems, is the only policy the Right has to offer. They’re quick to say what they hate but have no positive policy suggestions. They don’t want to govern. They want to obstruct, as we say in Canada, peace, order and good government.

A lot of people talk tough, but it seems that those who talk toughest are the most fearful. Shit your pants isn’t a foreign policy. You can’t defeat ISIS by denying immigration to victims of ISIS. A plethora of problems went from simmer to boil this year and, at the root of it all, is a lack of compassion. We’re too eager to make enemies and we undervalue our friends. (Like friends in NATO, for instance.)

My books are not overtly political. I write suspenseful fiction. I don’t set out to piss anybody off. My stories entertain and occasionally, if it serves the story, I will reference real world events. I wish we had respected writers rising  to lead. I so miss Kurt Vonnegut. I’m sure he’d have a lot to say right now. Likewise comedians like Bill Hicks and George Carlin. I wish Jon Stewart was still helming The Daily Show so we’d have more trenchant commentary that entertained as well as informed. Jon Oliver is doing a good job, at least.

It’s past time I took off my fiction hat on this topic. I was a journalist long before I was a novelist. However, I’m not writing today in either of those capacities. I’m writing as a citizen of the planet. Many writer friends won’t say anything political for fear of offending readers. I respect their choice but, to me, recognizing the threat to the world is more important than a few lost book sales. Maybe my voice adds nothing to the din but staying silent feels wrong.

Trump is a racist. White supremacists love him. I cringe every time he says something about what’s good for, “the Blacks.” A guy who didn’t want African Americans in his apartment buildings isn’t out to serve minority communities. Remember, this is the same guy who said he’d never employ a black accountant because they’re lazy. Stop. Just stop the hateful drivel.

He’s also a dangerous narcissist who knows too little about governing. With his history, he’s a terrible candidate and everybody knows it. (Check out Trumpcast if you need further convincing.) Barring an huge implosion on the Left, he can’t win. He can do a lot of damage on the way out of his publicity stunt and his most devout followers will be sore losers. Hillary is not a great candidate. She has many flaws but she’s far better than the orange alternative. 

The outrage here is that, though Paul Ryan has admitted Trump’s statements (with regard to the Mexican American judge) were racist, the Speaker of the House still supports Trump. Remember when John McCain’s campaign slogan was, “Country first”? The bulk of the Republican establishment is putting party before country. Trump would be a disastrous president. He’s already savaged the Republican brand for years to come.

Perhaps worse, the fifth estate is doing a terrible job. Most media continues to grade Trump on a curve. For better coverage, stay away from Breitbart. You’re better off listening to The Young Turks

People say they like that Trump means what he says. Unless he says something outrageous, racist, Putin-loving, disrespectful or downright dumb. Then he doesn’t mean it. The guy who is famous for, “You’re fired!” is going to employ everybody…somehow. But he’s not the people’s billionaire. If you don’t get a job during the Trump presidency, he’ll blame you and call you a loser.

Plus, he’ll build a wall instead of funding schools or fighting cancer. He claims he would build up a military that’s already the largest and best in the world by far. He’s reckless with NATO and has demonstrated eagerness to use nuclear weapons. He’s convinced some people that Obama is a secret Kenyan and has a terrible record with women and various minorities. He’s petty and thin-skinned. He sues people and is sued constantly. He doesn’t care for freedom of speech, especially when anyone dares to criticize him for anything.

Trump is the Fear Monger in Chief. It would be bad for the United States and the world if he becomes Commander in Chief. I can’t vote against him. I’m in Canada. However, the damage he would do to America and the world would certainly affect me. Few of us would be untouched by his incompetence. I encourage all my American friends: you don’t have to like Hillary Clinton but please vote against Donald J. Trump. He’s a con man and an embarrassment to your great country. 

Trump would not make America great again. Trump is clown shoes. Pure clown shoes. The world is watching and we’re holding our breath.

Note to Hillary Clinton: Give straight answers. Stop sounding so damn cautious and lawyerly. Don’t fuck this up. The social democratic revolution in politics I hoped for was Bernie’s vision but I’ll still be relieved when you’re in and Trump is out.

Then, Madame President, maybe you can start working on repairing the damage Clown Shoes has already done.

~ We now return to our regularly scheduled apolitical nonsense.

Getting better: Video of cupping for the knee

This video was my first experiment with Meerkat, the new livestreaming app. Therefore, no editing and nothing fancy here. Just a quick bit about treating a bum knee and showing what cupping looks like. The circles on your skin last a couple of days but the process loosens up the fascia and other soft tissue. Exercise is the main thing to recover from knee injury most of the time. Have a look, and hear the full podcast about the changes I’m making (and what’s happened to me) in the post below: Weight loss for a Loser.

Cupping can look a little gross. Fair warning.

The Pain and My New Commitments to You

In this post, I’m going to cover a couple of cool things you may want to be involved in. It’s about a new show, a new book and a new life for both of us.

What you might now know about me is, in addition to writing crime novels and dark fantasy, I’m a Registered Massage Therapist with over 20 years experience in injury rehabilitation and the treatment of disease conditions. (See?)

I work at being an RMT part-time to cobble together an income that finances my writing. At the moment, I’m working very little and things are looking pretty bad. It turns out, I have to work on myself to save myself from myself. I’m going to help you save yourself, too. Here’s what happened:

The Twist

A couple of weeks ago I was home alone. Naturally, since no one could see me, I cranked up some tunes and worked on getting some exercise. Writing is incredibly sedentary so I have to work out when I can. Two minutes later, I twisted my knee by dancing too hard.

Ow. How ridiculous. And OW!

So…shit. Now what? I suspect it’s a medial meniscus tear. Basically, that’s the cushion in the knee and my cushion isn’t working right. The pain has been so bad sometimes that I sweat. Sleep is elusive. When the pain gets intolerable, I use a cane.

Next on the menu: painkillers, ice, chiropractic, exercise, alignment techniques, manual therapy, bracing, cupping, heat and kinesiotape. Turmeric supplements (and lots of the natural spice) helps with joint inflammation. Analgesic creams aren’t touching the pain at all. I can normally squat the whole rack at the gym but I don’t dare do that right now. In fact, the stairs up to the weight room are intimidating and I have to be very careful.

I saw the doc today.

An X-ray and MRI is scheduled. It’s up to me to rehab my way out of trouble before a surgeon decides to get in there with flamethrowers, holy water and hot pokers. There’s ultrasound at my clinic and my friend the chiropractor is excellent, too. Arthroscopy isn’t as popular a solution as it once was, but I’m hoping the answer to my pain will be nothing more than rehabilitative exercise. Fortunately, I’m an expert in that.

Working my way out of pain is one of my part-time jobs now.

It doesn’t pay, but it’s going to feel great to be healthy again. In fact, I’m aiming for more than just going back to normal. I want to be super again. Doesn’t everybody want to feel super? My goals include weight loss (also great for knees and osteoarthritis) and a healthier, more active lifestyle. That can be hard for a writer who often sits still for hours at a time. However, I’ve got a plan for that and it’s already in action. No whining necessary!

I’ve still got writing projects going and collaborators and readers depending on me. My collaborators are patient, but I’m not.

A couple of part-time gigs are in the works to try to make ends meet. Standing at a massage table all day is too much pain at the moment, so I’m off that work for now. I’m dedicating a huge chunk of each day to try to fix my damn knee quickly. However, my plans are bigger than one knee. I’m thinking about your knees, too.

THE PROJECTS

Book sales have tapered off lately so I have to get the next book in the Ghosts & Demons Series revised, edited and beta read etc. and out there! I’m pretty close to finished with the book. Number two in the series is called The End of the World As I Know It and I’m really happy with it. It’s got jokes, action and swordplay galore. Very Buffy.

I am asking for help, but I also plan to give more help. (More on that below.)

If you can spot a typo at arm’s length or shoot an arrow through a plot hole at twenty paces, please join my Steel Falcon Beta Read Team. You’ll get a first look at what happens to Tamara Smythe in the demon apocalypse and laugh your ass off, too. If you want to join the Choir Invisible, just email me at expartepress [AT] gmail [DOT] com with the subject line: STEEL FALCON.

Please note: If you haven’t read The Haunting Lessons (the first book in the series) yet, that’s okay. Your help as a beta reader is appreciated immensely and you’ll get acknowledgement in the book, too.

Now, about that love and joy I’m going to spread around:

Very soon, I’ll launch a health program with daily updates for anyone who cares to follow. I’m hammering out details now, but this is about exercise, eating right and accountability. It’ll involve reports on my progress, exercise tips and tricks to get healthier. This is for me because I need to get on track, but it’s also for readers, viewers and a lot of people I don’t know. Everyone needs to eat and act healthy. I’ll lead by example and report the truth of my successes and failures. I’ll measure every mile of the journey. The reports will keep me on track and I hope they inspire you.

Soon you’ll see posts from me on Vine, Instagram and here, at AllThatChazz.com. Subscribe if’n you ain’t already!

If you’re on the Fitbit, go to Fitbit.com, find Chazz (me!) and be my friend there to kick things off.

This commitment will bleed over to the All That Chazz podcast, as well. This post is already too long, so I’ll talk about that in the next podcast.

How about it?

 Join the fight to live healthier every day. Join me. I’ll share my struggle and encourage you in yours. Soon, I’ll get my health, my job and life back. This isn’t the end. It’s the speed bump before a new beginning. I believe in beginning again. Do you?

~ Steel Falconers: email me at expartepress [AT] gmail [DOT] com.

The rest of you, get a good pair of sneakers out and get a fitbit. First goal: Get at least 10,000 steps every day. I’ll catch up to you soon, and I won’t be hobbling around on a cane!

Somewhere Down The Crazy River

Listening to Somewhere Down the Crazy River by Robbie Robertson and thinking about sultry nights under heavy moons when you can’t sleep so you walk the streets of the city. You’re not looking for trouble, but you’re open to trouble finding you. The night is to explore and life is waiting to be discovered.

Sometimes you are too much energy mixed with alcohol, no ice, and the night ends with harsh words with boys who want to be men but are untested. They puff out their chests and their legs go stiff, the easier for the breaking. They don’t really want to fight. That’s why they lose.

Sometimes it’s a slow dance on a dirty dance floor. Her: big hair, red, red lipstick, high heels and nothing to say. You: leather jacket, big, sincere smile and a false name.

These are the nights before the path is truly chosen. If you’re lucky, you don’t fall into choosing. You stay upright and conscious and live forever.

If you stay righteous, you walk away from mortality and refuse to get mired in the deep mud. In youth, you have to move like water because fire burns. Mortals get caught by branches and twigs along the narrow path and lose their way into Ordinary. They wind up trapped in canyons that echo the same thoughts off bone walls. They see, hear, taste, speak and live and die nothing new.

The gravel in Robbie Robertson’s voice knows the rough road. His music rises above stupid fights with anonymous wannabes. Somewhere Down the Crazy River is a lazy current to a mystical place where you confront yourself and lose your bullshit in the soulful sound of yearning and needing and wanting more than Ordinary.

It’s a song about how to live, awake and aware. If you don’t want to be mortal, listen to Robbie, over and over, until you are lifted and carried on that slow river of heart and mind.

The one thing you gotta learn is not to be afraid of it. You like it now? You’ll love it later.

On Writing and Word Jazz: When anything could happen

I’m listening to “Wind” by Ibrahim Maaloouf. I am inside and outside of the music at the same time. It’s smoky, bluesy jazz, the sort that uses rich, full notes to have a conversation with your soul about emptiness. I am acutely aware of my aching distance from this bar scene, this cherished scar. 

The air is blue. Maybe that’s the lighting or maybe that’s the hanging cigarette smoke, curling and twisting slowly. Maybe that’s my mood. Maaloouf’s muted trumpet is the instrument most like a mournful loon echoing across a lake at night.

The floor is sticky with splashed beer and spilled grenadine. We swirl our drinks, making them last. We all sway slightly in Maaloouf’s wind, to the feelings the musician stirs. Each breath is heat and lime, igniting need and imagination. Rum is a pickpocket, slipping away with our shyness. The city makes us turn away from each other, avoiding eye contact. Maaloouf, in this bar, now, lets us meet each other again.

The suits are sharp and the ties are leather and thin. The fedoras are not ironic. The curvy woman at the bar wears fire engine lipstick. She looks my way as she sucks an ice cube. Cue glances that turn to smouldering gazes and flirtatious smiles. We are each other’s next glorious mistake. Once we leave this room, anything could happen.

Remember when anything could happen? 

The waiting, melancholy rain makes me want to linger over our drinks, contemplating possibilities. There is sadness, but it’s the romantic kind to revel in. It’s okay to be honest about my feelings on a night like this. I won’t be so free to be honest again until I’m in my seventies.

When I listen to Maaloouf, I’m not even thirty. I am awake and I won’t even think of making my way home to my own bed until dawn. Twenty-six? Twenty-seven? The slide has begun, sure, but I can still say my potential isn’t wasted. Not yet. 

I wish I played jazz. I could still write but I could riff. I could play the same song over and over and my audience would plead to hear it again, exactly the same. I could produce art in three or four-minute sprints of genius instead of book-length marathons. You’d dig it and I’d be cool. Every night would be this night, real and unreal, a scene from a movie before the complications ensue.

If I were Maaloouf, I’d hear the applause from the stage. From my desk…. No.

I’m listening to “Wind” by Ibrahim Maaloouf. There is sadness, but it’s the romantic kind to revel in. I can almost taste the santo libre. 

PODCAST: The Usual Suspects Edition

Hi! Been away a while. Sorry about that. Back on track for 2015 as we come close to finishing the author reading of Higher Than Jesus. Hate my reading? Buy it through AllThatChazz.com!

Where have I been? I’ve been publishing books. If crime novels are your thing, the third in the Hit Man Series is Hollywood Jesus. You’ll also want to check out Intense Violence, Bizarre Themes, my autobiographical crime novel.

If you enjoyed This Plague of Days, you’ll enjoy my latest books, The Haunting Lessons. It’s eighty-one lessons on how to survive the coming Armageddon, all through the eyes of a nice girl from Iowa with some special talents. Do check it out. 

Just two chapters left in Higher Than Jesus. Stay tuned!

Also, don’t forget @Rsawatsky and the #DudeNeedsAKidney campaign. Russ Sawatsky’s website is kidneyforruss.wordpress.com.

And don’t forget to visit out sponsor, Kit Foster of KitFosterDesign.com, for all your graphic design needs.

Cheers!

~ Chazz